


One Girl In All The World

by kay_emm_gee



Series: the kids aren't alright (The 100 tumblr prompts) [55]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Humor, Inspired by Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5142248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Into every generation a slayer is born: one girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone--"</p><p>Yeah, stop right there. Seems the prophecy isn't as ironclad as the Council thought, given that Clarke finds out on her first day of junior year that she isn't the only Slayer in Arkville anymore. Not that she minds Octavia--the girl is dedicated and enthusiastic, if a bit naive about what she is getting into. It's the brother-slash-Watcher that Clarke can't stand, though if Kane, her own Watcher, has his way, she'll be working alongside the pair for a long time.</p><p>As if saving the world and not failing out of high school wasn't enough, now she has Bellamy's snark and stubbornness to put up with. Just her luck, but who said being the Slayer was easy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bellarke - Why do I get this feeling you’re about to mess up my entire life? Please and thank you!"

In the dim, dusky light of the library, Clarke glared at Bellamy, who glared right back at her. This was not how she wanted to start her junior year of high school and her third year as the Slayer. 

“Clarke,” Kane prodded gently. “We’ll figure this out.”

She scoffed, Bellamy snorted, and Octavia just huffed at the both of them. Jasper and Monty exchanged a look over the pile of ancient texts between them, ducking their heads back down into research when Clarke noticed them either smirking at each other or checking Octavia out (that was mostly Jasper, though).

“It’s the Chosen One, Kane,” she argued, folding her arms even tighter over her chest. “One, not two.”

“It’s not like I asked to get called next,” Octavia grumbled, twirling a stake between her thin fingers.

“So there are two slayers now. Big deal,” Bellamy added, brow pinched and jaw tight. “It’ll be safer for the both of you, looking out for each other–”

“Or we’ll just get in each other’s way.”

“You are making this much more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never actually fought the forces of evil before. Everything is difficult when you’re the Slayer. As her Watcher, you should know that. And this is a big fucking deal–nothing good comes from messing with prophecy, and the prophecy says  _one girl in all the world_. Not  _one girl plus an extra because it’ll make her brother worry less_. If you think this doesn’t mean big shit is coming our way, you’re going to get her and yourself, probably all of us, killed.”

Bellamy scoffed again, throwing his hands up in the air with exasperation. Kane shot Clarke a reprimanding glance, but the lines around his eyes softened when she avoided direct eye contact. Her Watcher knew exactly what she was thinking. It was a big deal, because she had  _died_ , because she had let vampire king Dante Wallace get the best of her, even if no one except herself thought it was her fault. And, apparently, her momentary dip into the afterlife was enough to call up the next Slayer, even if Finn had brought her back via some mouth-to-mouth.

Clarke shivered, the memories of waking to immense pain in her chest and coughing up dirty sewer water still too potent. Another type of pain shot through her when she remembered that was the last time she had seen Finn, who had disappeared into the night without a second look back, living up to the cliché of his denizen-of-the-night kind.  _A vampire in love with a Slayer_. She recalled Kane’s words from a while ago, and the wonder in them, but the only wondering she did now was whether Finn had really loved her at all to have left like he had.

“Can we figure out the rest of this Chosen Two crap tomorrow?” Octavia blurted, hopping down from the table. “It’s only my third day here and I already have a quiz to study for.”

“Get used to it,” Clarke sighed, managing to flick a small smile in the girl’s direction. It really wasn’t her fault she had gotten called.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “We’ll get used to that, and you get used to having another Slayer on your team.”

His patronizing tone wiped the smile right off of her face, and she dug her fingernails into her palm to keep from snapping back at him, for Octavia’s sake. It really,  _really_  wasn’t her fault that her brother-slash-Watcher was ridiculously obnoxious.

She should ignore him, at least that’s what Monty’s subtle shake of his head was saying. When Bellamy continued to glower at her though, as if she was offending him with her mere presence, she couldn’t hold back. With a razor sharp grin, she sauntered over to him, tipping her chin up to meet his mulish gaze. In an overly saccharine and dangerous tone, she asked, “Why do I get this feeling that you’re about to mess up my entire life?”

“Why do I get this feeling that your life is already kind of messed up?”

“You really don’t know what it means to be the Slayer, do you?”

“Considering I’m a Watcher, I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Clarke laughed, a bit too much bitterness in the sound, stepping away as she saw a flash of sympathy in his dark eyes. “You have no idea what being the Slayer means.”

Turning on her heel, she ignored the apologetic grimace on Octavia’s face and Kane reaching out to grab her arm, striding out of the library as if the Hellmouth itself was opening at the base of her heels. By the time she hit the hallway, she was sprinting, slamming through double door after double door. She kept running, running from the pity on her friends’ faces, from the naive excitement in Octavia’s eyes, from the intensity of Bellamy’s love for his sister until she skidded into the empty parking lot, lit only by a few dim, flickering lampposts.

Only a few heaving breaths later, and footsteps sounded behind her.

“I’m fine, Kane,” she said wearily.

“Clarke.”

She whipped around, gaze narrowing at Bellamy and his determined expression.

“What do you want?” She grit out.

“This isn’t easy for me, either, you know.”

“Oh, yes, please, tell me how  _difficult_  this is for  _you._  Do you have any idea what Octavia is in for?”

“I’ve read and reread the Watcher diaries so many times that I have them memorized,” he said heatedly, face flushing. “I’ve read everything I can get my hands on, actually, even flew to Headquarters to read some of the more obscure texts. I’ve researched on the internet, been training her since she was twelve when I fought the Council to be assigned as her Watcher. Hell, I’ve been protecting her since the day she was born. She is–my responsibility, and she knows hers, trust me. Neither of us are walking into this blind, Clarke.”

“You have  _no_  idea–”

“Damn it, we’re not idiots! We know how hard this life is–”

“You don’t!” She screamed, her calm finally shattering. “You don’t know how much this life takes from you, how it changes you. You won’t even recognize Octavia in a year. If she’s even still alive!”

“Give my sister some credit,” he growled.

“It doesn’t matter, Bellamy,” she pleaded. “It doesn’t matter how well she is trained or how much you know. There is always someone faster, someone stronger, someone smarter. You fight and you kill and you try and try, but it just, you just–”

She choked on the words, a pain in her chest, the taste of stale water in her mouth. Air seemed to only come out of her lungs, not in, as panic and shame washed over her. Octavia had no idea what she was getting into, what it cost you to be the Slayer, and Bellamy had no idea what it was to love a Slayer. His sister was going to break his heart, and neither of them knew it yet. All because Clarke hadn’t been strong enough, because she hadn’t carried the burden of the Slayer mantle the way she should have, and now others were dragged into the darkness with her.

She had not been able to bear it, so now someone else had to, and it took her breath away.

Strong hands wrapped around her shoulders, steadying her. “Shh, Clarke, it’s okay. It’s okay. Breathe. Just breathe.”

“You’re going to lose her,” Clarke choked out. “And it’s my fault.”

His arms came around her at the same time she collapsed against his warm chest, letting the tears fall.

“It is  _not_  your fault,” he said loudly, vehemently, as if proclaiming it to a crowd instead of the empty lot. “It is not your fault. And I might–lose her. But I also might not. Don’t let them win, Clarke. You’re the Slayer. You always win.”

Clarke fisted her hands in his shirt, desperately wanting to believe him.

“We’re on your side now,” Bellamy said softly. “So we’ll always win.”

They were empty words–they both knew that–but also earnest, so they filled her up anyways, a warm, centering weight. 

As they stood in the parking lot together, her face pressed against his chest and his arms around her shoulders, she considered that maybe having help around wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four times Bellamy takes a weapon away from Clarke (+one time he puts one right into her hands).

**[ i. ]**

When Bellamy snatched the stake out of her hand for the second time, Clarke almost punched him in the nose.

“I’m not holding it wrong,” she said through gritted teeth. He had been on her case for weeks about her Slaying techniques, and she was at the end of her rope.

He snorted, then adjusted his grip on the raised stake. “You’ll have better leverage if you hold it closer to the tip, and better thrust too–”

Childish snickering from Jasper and coughing from Monty made them both whip around and glare disapprovingly.

“Oh my god,” Bellamy muttered under his breath. “It’s like we’re with–”

“A bunch of high schoolers?” Octavia chimed in, looking up from the text she was scouring with a grin.

Bellamy just exchanged a baleful look with Kane, whom Clarke considered a traitor for taking to the elder Blake so well. Watcher solidarity and all, she understood, but they actually got  _drinks_  the other night, as if they were  _friends_. Kane was supposed to be  _her_  Watcher, and as her Watcher he shouldn’t be associating with assholes who told her she threw a stake like a first-year Slayer.

She was able to snatch her weapon back with him distracted, though he grunted in protest when she wiggled it in front of him tauntingly. He tried to grab it again, but she hopped back out of reach. To her embarrassment, she stuck her tongue out at him as she did so.

“High schoolers,” he snorted, raising his hands in disdainful defeat.

Though she had walked into it, it was a low blow, and Clarke bided her time for revenge as Kane took over her training for the rest of the afternoon. It wasn’t very productive, as she spent most of it fuming and watching Bellamy out of the corner of her eye while he joined his sister researching.

It was only when he and Octavia were leaving that she saw her chance. Quickly, so Kane couldn’t stop her, she snapped off a blunt piece of wood from the stake and whipped it at Bellamy’s retreating head. He grunted as the small piece–no bigger than a wood chip you’d find on the playground–smacked him, twisting around with an annoyed expression.

“Guess my aim is top notch after all,” Clarke taunted, wiggling her fingers at him. “Or it’s just not that hard to miss hitting your big, big egotistical head.”

He glowered at her, rubbing the sore spot before storming out of the library. Octavia followed him, and Clarke grinned when she heard the other girl’s laughter echo loudly in the hall outside.

So Kane may have given her an extra thirty minutes of running laps later that week as punishment, but Bellamy also seemed extra cautious to not turn his back on her in the following days. He even left her training alone, and so to Clarke, her sore legs were entirely worth it.

* * *

**[ ii. ]**

The chain of the amulet scraped her burnt palm as Bellamy jerked it from her grip.

“That was stupid,” he growled. “Going after The Order alone.”

“She wasn’t alone,” Octavia sniffed, jutting a hip out and leaning against the library table. “She had backup. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you have a history test tomorrow?”

“I think saving the world trumps Colonial America.”

“And yet if you two had waited–”

Clarke interrupted. “Then The Order would’ve seen us coming. We needed to catch them off guard.”

Bellamy frowned, his face reddening with frustration, but then the library doors burst open.

“The amulet’s gone!” Kane shouted, eyes wild. “They must’ve–”

Bellamy raised his hand and dropped the amulet down an inch, letting it wobble in the air. “Found your thieves, Kane.”

Clarke didn’t feel a bit of guilt as her Watcher scowled at them. “Did you–”

“They did,” Bellamy complained.

As Kane opened his mouth, no doubt to give them both a very high-handed and boring lecture, Octavia leaned and whispered, “Three, two..”

With an exchanged glance, both she and Octavia bolted for the door, swerving around a surprised Kane and Bellamy, high-fiving each other when they reached the hall.

“We’re going to be stuck doing research all weekend, you know,” Octavia huffed as they ran for Clarke’s car in the parking lot. “All. Weekend.”

Clarke shrugged as she started the ignition, watching the door to make sure there wasn’t extra reason to rush. Bellamy had been getting faster these days, after all. “Not the worst.”

“You’re not the one with a party to go to.”

“How is it that you, as a sophomore, know more juniors and seniors than I do?”

“Must be my sunny personality.”

Snorting, Clarke shot her partner a dubious glance.

Octavia just grinned, then continued, a bit slyly, “Besides, you actually like going to the library to do research with Bellamy.”

“That Knight hit you upside the head too hard,” Clarke scoffed.

“Admit it. You like nerding out with my brother.”

“Slayers slay. Watchers–”

“Watch. Yeah, he certainly watches you. And I find it disgusting, by the way. I don’t need to see my brother looking at your–”

“ _Oh_ -kay that’s enough,” Clarke protested, sending Octavia a scathing look.

“I was going to say your hair, geez. He’s not a creep. He is aware that you’re seventeen, and he’s twenty-two.”

“I’m going to be eighteen in six months.”

“Then tell him that.”

“Octavia!”

“Just being helpfully observant.”

“Just being a pain in my ass.”

“I’ll stop if you cover for me this weekend so I can go to this party.”

“Now I’m beginning to know how Bellamy feels,” Clarke groaned. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Maybe that’s why I get all the invites.”

Clarke couldn’t help smiling at Octavia’s teasing, then rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll cover for you.”

“Best co-Slayer ever.”

“Yeah, yeah. I bet you say that to all the Slayers.”

“Nope. Just you.”

“I feel so appreciated,” Clarke deadpanned.

Octavia was quiet for a moment, before she said, “You are, Clarke.”

Clarke glanced over at her partner, who was looking serious for once. “Love you too, O.”

Octavia smiled, shaking her head. “Of course you do. I’m the best.”

Laughing, Clarke nodded, in total agreement. Octavia was the best, and though she’d never admit it at the moment, so was her brother, maybe, just a little, sometimes.

* * *

**[ iii. ]**

It was midnight, and Clarke couldn’t feel her knuckles, but she also couldn’t quite seem to care. She kept walloping the mannequin, imaging Principal Sydney’s face as each target that she punched with her fist and jabbed with her elbow.

The principal had apparently taken issue with Abby throwing her weight around to get Clarke permission to retake a test that she had missed yesterday–sometimes it did help having her mother in on the whole Slaying thing, especially when you had to stop a coven of doomsday witches from enslaving the town on a school day. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to bear the weight of Sydney’s fake smiles and underhanded verbal jabs, especially as they were becoming less underhanded lately.

“Call.”  _Whomp._

“Me.”  _Whack._

“A.”  _Wham._

“Spoiled.”  _Whack. Whack._

“Princess.”  _Wham._

“One.”  _Whomp._

“More.”  _Whack._

“Time.”

A sharp crack echoed through the empty library as the wooden mannequin split in two. Clarke glared down at it, chest heaving, cheeks hot, as if it were the thing’s fault she had broken it.

“Remind me not to run into you in a dark alley,” a dry voice echoed from the office.

Spinning around, Clarke’s gaze landed on Bellamy, who was leaning against the door jam lazily. He was rubbing his eyes, as it he had just woken up, and wearing the same clothes as earlier; his hair was rumpled too, and he had glasses– _who knew Bellamy Blake wore glasses, or that they made him look, well, more something_ –perched on the end of his nose.

“Thought you’d have that one figured out by now,” Clarke replied airily, wiping sweat from her forehead with the crook of her elbow. It didn’t do much, just plaster the few loose curls at her hairline against her skin. “Me, Slayer. You, pathetic human.”

“You don’t think I could take you in a fight.”

She grinned. “Oh, I know you couldn’t.”

“I’ve been training! And besides, brain over brawn, princess.”

All of her amusement fled as Sydney’s voice echoed in her mind, and she muttered, “Don’t call me that.”

She turned away, rolling her shoulders and wondering if Kane had extra mannequins stored somewhere other than the currently inaccessible weapons lockup.

“Hey.”

She jumped, then glared over her shoulder at Bellamy, who was standing right behind her now.

“You okay?”

“Fine. You got the lockup keys?”

He stared at her for another second, doubt in his eyes. Then he relented, “No. Kane took them home.”

“Damn.”

“Still got some anger to work out?”

“No,” she replied testily, even as she picked up a stake at her feet, twirling it between her fingers. “I just need to practice. Kane’s been getting on my case lately.”

“C’mon,” Bellamy said, tugging the stake from her hand. “You’ve been here late every night, even after patrolling. Go home, get some sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“Clarke.”

“Bellamy.”

“Go home,” he repeated, softer this time.

Clarke hung her head, shivering as the sweat dried cold on her body. “I’m not going because you told me to. My mom’s probably freaking out by now, anyways.”

“Of course. When do you ever listen to me?”

She shot him a small smile, warmth spreading in her chest at his gentle, teasing tone. “Some of your constant nagging has to take its toll.”

“Glad I could be of service.”

As he ambled back to the office, she slung her gym bag over her shoulder. When she realized he wasn’t coming back out, she poked her head around the door. “What about you?”

He looked up from his desk, which was stacked with foot-high piles of books, haphazardly teetering in the golden glow of his lamp. A half-empty mug of coffee sat by his elbow, and an open notebook was laid out in front of him. “I’ve got work to do.”

“So this is a do as I say, not as I do situation?”

“I thought you weren’t doing what I say.”

Clarke huffed, fighting a smile at his smug expression. “So sue me for looking out for my Watcher.”

His eyes widened slightly at her slip, and her cheeks heated.

“Your Watcher?” He asked, more curiously than anything.

“We’re a team, didn’t you know?” She explained quietly, her pulse stuttering when he gave her a broad, warm smile, nothing like she’d ever seen directed her way before.

“That we are.”

He was still smiling at her, the sheer intensity of it making her shift nervously. “Night, Bellamy.”

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

She walked out of the school a bit faster than usual, glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting him to follow her out. It would be just like him to not trust that she was actually going to go home and sleep.

As she backed out of the school parking lot, a flicker of gold caught her eye. The entire school was darkened by late-night shadows, all except the library window where Bellamy was burning the midnight oil, saving the world one translation at a time.

_Watchers_ , Clarke thought with an exasperated but fond sigh as she drove home.

* * *

**[ iv. ]**

“You’re too close to this!” Bellamy snarled, holding her confiscated sword behind his back. “Let Octavia handle it.”

“You going to send your little sister after Finn, really?”

“At least she’ll have the right objective.”

Clarke flinched away from him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s beyond saving Clarke. He doesn’t have his soul anymore, and the things he’s done–”

“I know!” She screamed, a sob ripping from her at the same time. “Don’t you think I know? He’s stalked  _my_  friends, Bellamy.  _My_ mother.  _My_ Watcher. What do you think he’ll do to Octavia, as my partner? He’ll toy with her, make an example out of her, all because of me. I won’t have her blood on my hands too!”

Bellamy’s face fell, crashing into something that resembled regret, though Clarke couldn’t see it quite clearly through the tears welling up in her eyes. With a sigh, he said,  “I didn’t mean–”

“Of course you did. You think I won’t go through with it.”

“No! It’s just–it shouldn’t be you! You shouldn’t have to be the one to–”

“Give it to me,” she growled.

“Clarke,” he warned.

With a cry, she lunged forward, striking out with the flat of her hand. He deflected it, but he wasn’t ready for her other strike, forced to drop the sword to protect himself. As soon as it clattered to the ground, Clarke swept her foot out, knocking Bellamy’s legs out from under him. He groaned when he hit the floor, but she ignored it, going for the sword instead. Once the heavy thing was clasped in her hand, she broke for the doors, grabbing a few stakes on her way out. She used one to bolt the doors behind her, locking him inside.

She could hear his furious shouts and banging attempts to get free, but when that was all she heard–no squeaking of his sneakers against the linoleum, no clear yelling that echoed in the hallway–she breathed in relief. The only worse possibility than Finn getting his hands on Octavia was him getting to Bellamy. So he was safe, for now.

Swallowing thickly, she left him behind, sword gripped in her clammy hand as she headed off to the mansion. She had a demon to confront, and this time, she wasn’t going to let fond memories or hope get in her way. Monty had tried his best with the spells, but there was no saving Finn now.

It was her first love or the world, and she was a Slayer. She knew her duty.

Bellamy found her hours later, kneeling in front of the stone statue, which was quiet, motionless again, glaring down at them in all its insentient menace. Clarke felt him tug the bloody sword from her limp hand, and though his fingers intertwined with hers, she could not sense the warmth that was always so distinctly his.

His voice was gentle when he asked, “Is he–”

“He’s gone.”

Bellamy sighed, then gently pulled her into the circle of his arms. It was only when she felt herself vibrate against him that she realized she was sobbing.

“It’s alright,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re going to be alright.”

Somehow they ended up slumped together against one of the decaying stone walls of the now vacated mansion. It was cold, and Clarke shivered, but she didn’t have the energy or the drive to move. Instead she burrowed further into Bellamy, letting his body heat tell her that she was still alive, letting his heartbeat remind her that her own heart was still in her chest and not encased in stone, lost to a hell dimension with no way back. She allowed her eyes to drift closed, mesmerized by the feel of Bellamy’s large hand circling her back.

When she woke, he was asleep still, the earliest brushes of dawn light illuminating his freckles and worry lines. Briefly Clarke traced her fingers in the air over them, wishing she could soothe away his concern, wishing she dared to connect the dots for real.

Instead, she stood, her muscles screaming in protest at the movement, ever as her heart cried out for her to run, run fast and far.

The last one she did manage, right after grabbing a few changes of clothes from home, shoved into a duffle bag quickly and quietly so her mother wouldn’t catch her. She ran far, first on a Greyhound, then in the backseat of some roadtripping college kids on spring break, and finally it was her own two feet that led her to the small, rundown city of Deece.

That was far enough, her heart decided, and then the tears finally stopped.

* * *

**[ +i. ]**

Clarke swung her legs in the air, gripping the library table tightly. Cool fall air swept around her shoulders, which were bare. She had lost her sweater somewhere in Dropship, right before her dancing spectacle, but it didn’t matter. She had worn the tight, black tube dress for a reason, and it hadn’t been for warmth.

She waited in the library, which hadn’t changed at all in the seven months she had been gone. It still smelled musty, and no students ever came in here, save her and her friends.

Well, if she could still call them her friends after tonight. Or if they would call her theirs.

Fury surged through her, urging her to push off the table and run or hit or scream. So arrogant they had been, talking of abandonment and selfishness and callousness.  _You left us_ , they had said.

_The world didn’t implode,_  she had replied stonily, but underneath her chest ached with guilt because she would see the strain it had taken on them, her absence. Still, certainty condensed in her gut, telling her that if she hadn’t left, the Clarke Griffin they knew would have ceased to exist. She needed time, time away from responsibility and judgement and weight, just to bear the sacrifice that she had already made.

Neither did they didn’t seem to care that Octavia had done fine on her own, that a second Slayer wasn’t required. And that was the bitterest pill to swallow, in a twisted way. They had done fine without her; they hadn’t fallen apart with her gone. She wasn’t needed. So where did that leave her?

The soft creak of the library doors opening startled her, but she frowned immediately when Bellamy strode in.

“Get out,” she declared.

“You own the library?” He shot back, scowling.

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Funny. You had plenty to say earlier tonight.”

“So did the rest of you. Didn’t hold back at all, did they?” She retorted harshly.

That brought him up short. His expression eased a bit, no less intense but not as accusatory. “What did you expect, Clarke? They missed you, worried about you for _months_.”

“Sure had a great way of showing it.”

“Not a word from you in all that time. They get to be frustrated.”

“And what do I get?” She shouted suddenly, her voice refracting in the emptiness of the room. “I get their scorn, their hurt, and that’s it? I fucked up  _once_ , after I murdered my boyfriend to save the world might I add, and I don’t get a second to grieve? I don’t get a chance at for–at forg–”

She squeezed her eyes shut as she choked on the last word. Bellamy sighed, and then heavy, cautious footsteps approached. Warm weight fell on her hands, his palms pressing down on her knuckles.

“Clarke,” he said gently, and she shook her head, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes.

He waited a beat, then asked, “Want to shoot a crossbow?”

At that, she popped her eyes open, staring at him suspiciously. “What?”

“Come on.” He pried her hands away from the table, tugging her upright. Her heels clicked against the wood floor as he walked her over to the weapons lockup.

“Kane gave you a key?” She asked, surprised.

“Nah. Octavia lifted it off of him and made us all copies.”

She laughed quietly, glad to know at least some things hadn’t changed while she was gone.

Bellamy took out a crossbow, one weighted perfectly for someone her size, and notched the arrow expertly.  _Maybe some things did change_ , she thought as she watched him hold it up to eye level, checking the balance. It seems their Watcher didn’t just watch anymore.

“Alright,” he said with teasing gruffness. “Just don’t hit any of the books, okay? They’re precious.”

She rolled her eyes and hoisted the bow up, settling the butt against one shoulder. Aiming for the side of the farthest bookshelf, she was about to pull the trigger when his hand clamped down on her shoulder.

“You’re too tense. You’ll miss,” he commented softly. “Relax, breathe, and bring it just a little higher.”

She shifted her stance, and it brought her back against his front, her steadiness meeting his solidness.

“Uh, yeah,” he breathed. “Just like that.”

With Bellamy at her back, she let her heartbeat set the timeline:  _three, two, one_ …

With a whoosh, the arrow flew, fast and stright, sticking with a thud into the center of the middle panel of the bookshelf.

A disbelieving laugh left her at the same time as exhilaration flooded through her, because even after months of not touching a weapon, she still had it.

“How’d it feel?” Bellamy asked in amusement.

“Amazing,” Clarke replied immediately, spinning around to grin at him.

“So. You’re back, then?”

Clarke met his direct, questioning gaze head-on, despite the thrum of flight in her heart, the urge to go back to running, to not facing the past. There was something in his brown eyes, though, that quieted that impulse, and so after a moment, she found herself saying, “Yeah. I’m back.”

He breathed a sigh that sounded a lot like relief, before cupping her shoulders and turning her around again.

“Now let’s try that again,” he murmured next to her ear, placing his hands over hers on the crossbow to raise it again. “Maybe it was just beginner’s luck.”

“You wish.”

“Prove me wrong, princess.”

“Watch me.”

“It is what I do best.”

Clarke snorted, then in a single breath, notched another arrow and let it fly, knowing in her heart that it would land true, just like she knew that Bellamy would always have her back, just like she knew that she wasn’t going anywhere again anytime soon.

She loved being a Slayer, after all. She knew where she was supposed to be, and that was right here, with those who loved her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cage--also known as Principal Wallace--is a demon hellbent on destroying Arkadia, all because Clarke killed his dad two years ago. 
> 
> Of course Clarke couldn't get a normal graduation day like any other high school senior. She is the Slayer after all--but a Slayer with friends who she is willing to do anything to save.

She didn’t even see the arrow coming.

Octavia screamed, Bellamy hissed, and Lincoln tackled them both to the ground. Immediately Clarke whirled, looking for their attacker. A flash of movement from atop the movie theater caught her eye, but then it was gone. Even so, she knew it had to be one of Cage’s lackeys. Once she and Octavia and the team had figured out his plan for destroying the town and using its inhabitants as ritual sacrifices on graduation day, he had been coming at them, hard. He was bent on revenge for his father, whom she had killed two years ago. To be fair, Dante had killed her first, so she considered them even. His demon son, however, was using her being alive and him still being dead as a reason to go apocalyptic on Arkadia.

Her gaze jerked back to her friends when Bellamy groaned in pain. Then he cried out, grabbing at his arm frantically. Octavia panicked and tried to push his hand away to get a better look at the wound.

“It just grazed him,” Lincoln reassured them. “A shallow cut. It will heal easily.”

“He’s in too much pain,” Clarke responded as she dropped to her knees beside them. “It’s more than that.”

It wasn’t until they were back at the library, and she noticed the blood dripping from his eyes that the rest of them believed her.

“Poison,” Kane blurted, dashing off to his office for books. Jasper whimpered, and Monty began mumbling under his breath, no doubt conjuring up some focus and calm for all of them.

Clarke went cold all over, barely registering anything other than Bellamy splayed across the table, half-asleep and struggling to breathe.

Then Octavia spoke. “You know what this is.”

Lincoln sighed, reaching for her but she flinched away.

“Was this Trigeda?” She demanded. Things had been tense with her and Lincoln, even though he had finally defected to their side. His former allies–the rebel Watcher group, led by Lexa, that had splintered from the main one hundreds of years ago–had been at them for months about Cage, having tangled with him before. They were willing to sacrifice the whole town to take him out, something Clarke and Octavia were obviously against.

“No.” He paused, expression pained. “I don’t think so. They may not see our side of this, but they wouldn’t come after us.”

“You’re sure?”

“Lexa and I had a deal,” Clarke cut in, finally snapping her attention to the arguing couple. “We brokered that alliance so we’d have twice the forces to fight Cage. She wouldn’t try and take us out, not when we’re so close to the end of this.”

She tried not to blush at thinking of the _other_ reason Lexa wouldn’t try to take her out, but the potent, dizzying memory of soft lips and gentle hands made it hard to fight the heat rising in her cheeks.

Then Bellamy let out a hacking cough, splattering blood onto his shirt, the table, the floor. Octavia rushed to his side, wiping away the mess. As she made soothing noises, Clarke turned to Lincoln.

“Is there a cure?”

Her gut clenched at the sorrow on his face.

“Lincoln,” she pleaded, even if it was futile.

“There is,” he said slowly. “But–”

“But nothing,” Octavia snapped. “He’s my brother. We are going to save him.”

“The poison comes from the fangs of a demon. If you kill the demon and feed Bellamy its blood, he’ll be able to heal.”

“Then let’s summon the sucker,” Jasper muttered, rolling his shoulders. “We can’t let him die.”

“The summoning–it requires a _jus givnes_.”

Monty sucked in a sharp breath, and Lincoln flicked a cautious glance at the boy.

“Monty?” Clarke prompted, steeling herself for the worst.

“It means sacrifice,” Kane said, suddenly reappearing with a grave look on his face. “Blood sacrifice.”

“Use mine,” Clarke and Octavia blurted at the same time. They eyed each other carefully, promisingly.

“You don’t understand,” Lincoln explained. “It requires more than just a few drops. Even more than either of you have in your bodies.”

“How much blood, Lincoln?” Clarke demanded. She was growing impatient, and Bellamy was growing more pallid by the minute.

“Dozens of bodies’ worth.”

Clarke’s stomach dropped. Even as she told herself they couldn’t cross that line, she glanced at Bellamy one more time and the way his fingers were twitching uncontrollably. Octavia started to cry, Kane sighed, and the rest looked helpless. Without thinking, Clarke reached out and took Bellamy’s hand, stopping the spasming. She held it, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, because right now, it was all she could do for him.

* * *

 

Three days later, when Clarke strode into the library smelling like smoke, brimstone, and blood, she clung to the memory of Bellamy’s limp hand in hers. It was the only reason the bile in her throat wasn’t rising up, the memory of _all those bodies_ strewn across the floor making her sick.

Her friends were waiting for her, as she had expected. Even as her pulse pounded dully under her skin, every beat of her heart ringing with guilt, she continued walking forward, the cure for Bellamy–blood of the demon she had just slain–clutched in her numb fingers.

“What did you do?” Kane slammed a book down on the table when she stopped in front of him. Jasper and Monty jumped at the noise, looking at each other uneasily and very pointedly not at her. “Damn it, Clarke, what did you do?”

She lifted her chin, her blood-spattered and soot-stained chin, as she stared back at her Watcher, as expressionless as he was enraged. “I did what had to be done.”

Octavia made a choking noise, hand over her mouth. “Tell me you didn’t.”

Clarke just raised her hand–also bloody–and held out the vial of demon’s blood. Her fellow Slayer snatched it up immediately, though she flinched away from Clarke with something that bordered on horror.

“You couldn’t have,” Octavia pleaded. “Clarke, you didn’t. I heard the reports on the news. They were saying it was an explosion from a gas leak. Tell me this was an accident.”

“Octavia, don’t.”

“You think my brother would’ve wanted you to do this? For him?”

“Octavia. The cure. Don’t waste any more time. He doesn’t have it.”

“Tell me this was an accident and not you having murdered a few dozen people so you could summon the demon and save my brother!”

“They weren’t innocents, Octavia. They had killed for Cage. Tortured and maimed for him and his cause. Done all sorts of things–”

“They may not even have known what they were doing!” Lincoln interrupted, his voice harsh and hard with anger. His eyes flashed as he stood, looking at her with judgement.

“They did know exactly what they were doing,” Clarke hissed suddenly. She had watched their compound at the warehouse for days, skipping school and evading her friends and lying to her mom just so she could observe round-the-clock and identify those who were under Cage’s serum-induced thrall and those who weren’t. “I made sure of it. Lexa and I made sure of it.”

It was suddenly hard to breathe, because the gasps and sharp inhales from her friends had seemingly sucked all the air out of the room.

“Lexa helped you with this?” Lincoln asked gravely.

“It had to be done,” Clarke echoed again. Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. Closing her eyes, she ignored the ache of shame–but not regret–prickling under her skin. “We were just all sitting around here watching him die, and I couldn’t do it anymore. We need him.”

“What if you were wrong?” Kane asked softly. “What if those people weren’t–”

“They were.” She cracked on the last word, though, tears suddenly streaming down her face. “They were aware of what they were doing, they were, I promise they were. Tsing and Emerson and the rest, they were lucid and they were going to help Cage lay waste to this town and I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him take this from me, not after all we’ve done to protect the Hellmouth and the town, and he won’t take Bellamy from me–from us. He _can’t._ ”

A sob threatened to escape, but she bit her lip until she tasted she tasted blood. Then she laughed, because who knew if that blood was hers or the demon’s? How would she be able to tell the difference, or would there even be one after what she had done tonight?

“Bellamy wouldn’t have wanted this,” Octavia growled. Even so, she gripped the vial of blood tighter. “He _never_ would’ve wanted this of you.”

“Too late,” Clarke taunted with a grim, hollow smile.

_It had to be done_ , she repeated in her mind. And so she had done it, and now there was no turning back. With a glare that was somewhere between angry and pitying, Octavia stormed past her, barging out the library doors. It calmed Clarke just the slightest when she heard her friend’s footsteps speed up, sneakers slapping frantically against the linoleum hallway floors as she raced to cure her brother.

_It had to be done. It had to be done. It had to be done._

Thin arms came around her, and she shuddered into Monty’s embrace.

“I would’ve done the same, had it been Jasper,” he murmured in her ear.

She nearly collapsed at the words, but instead chose to loosely twine her arms around him instead. He squeezed her tighter, and it almost made her feel better.

* * *

 

“Oh my god. He’s going to do the whole speech.”

Adjusting her graduation cap, Clarke groaned as she realized her classmate was right. Cage– _Principal Wallace_ , she thought snidely–was going to torture them with cheesy, false ‘words of graduation wisdom’ before he killed them. At least he didn’t seem to be aware of her plan, which even Kane had approved of. Letting her classmates know about the danger they were in had been a desperate measure but also the only logical solution after Lexa had betrayed them by striking a deal with their devil. She agreed to let Cage wreak havoc on Arkadia as long as he left the rest of the world alone (not very likely, Clarke thought bitterly, because Cage was a greedy bastard). Her peers, however, had taken the introduction to the supernatural fairly well. Not surprising, really, when you looked at the mortality rates for Arkadia High–or hell, their entire town.

Even though she had successfully distributed weapons to every student in the audience, Clarke was still on edge as she proceeded into the gymnasium in her cap and gown. No matter how many fought tonight, no matter if they won, lives would still be lost. Cage and his minions would put up a hard and vicious fight, looking to spill as much blood as possible. Many students had managed to send their families away, though it had taken a lot to get her own mother to leave town.

_I’ll be distracted with you here!_ Clarke had finally screamed as her mother had glared at her stubbornly, refusing to pack a bag and get out of town. _Do you want me to get killed because I’m too busy worrying if you’re still alive?_

That had finally made Abby get in her car, and Octavia had almost looked jealous when she told her about the victory when they met up before the ceremony.

_If only Bellamy would’ve caved so easily_ , she had grumbled, handing Clarke a few extra stakes she could conceal under her robe. _Or at all._

Clarke had merely grimaced, unsurprised. Even though the Bellamy was still recovering from his bout with the poison, it was entirely like him to stand with them in this fight. She was worried because he was still weak, but it was useless to talk him down. No force on Earth would keep him away from graduation tonight, not when the fate of the world, and of his sister, was on the line.

As Cage continued to drone on up at the podium, Clarke glanced over her shoulder, casually trying to spot the Blakes in the audience. She found them on the third try. Octavia was looking pissed off, arms crossed over her chest and frowning. Bellamy appeared more composed but still tense; she swore she could see the muscle in his jaw jumping as he grit his teeth in preparation for the fight to come.

They hadn’t spoken much in the last few weeks. He had been distant after finding out what she had done to get his cure, and she had been so consumed with outmaneuvering Cage that there hadn’t been much time for her to confront him, or let him confront her, about it.

Now that they were minutes away from possible death, though, Clarke wished with everything she had that she had tried to make it right. She might never get the chance, if one of them didn’t make it through the battle. Her palms grew sweaty as she clutched the smalls sword at her hip, realizing it was too late for apologies or regrets. They had a fight to win tonight, and if that was the only victory she could claim as she left high school behind, she would take what she could get.

Cage smiled smugly as he finished, and a brief hush fell over the crowd before his head snapped backwards with a sickening crack. An unearthly shrieking roar shattered the silence as a reptilian form erupted from his body, and Clarke leapt to her feet, answering him with her own blood-curdling war cry.

The vampires followed him off the stage, the students followed her out of the seats, and the two groups clashed right at the front row of chairs. Clarke aimed to kill, and their enemies aimed right back. When she heard her first classmate go down, screaming as he was sucked dry, her legs nearly collapsed under her. But then there was another vampire in her path, and she kept going, kept fighting. She saved some, and wasn’t fast enough to get to others, but she kept fighting. She didn’t have any other choice.

Slowly she worked her way towards Cage, the ranks of her fellow fighters thinning out the closer she got. That was always the plan: their army was only supposed to hold the demons at bay to prevent them from reaching the rest of the town. Monty was working his magic to keep a barrier around the school as a last resort, and Kane and Jasper were standing as his guard. That left just her and Octavia–and Bellamy–to take down Cage.

Clarke was just about to race up the stage steps when something yanked her back. She landed hard on the ground, the breath knocked out of her. A snarling vampire fell on her, but was gone just as quickly in a puff of ashy dust.

“Need a hand, princess?”

Clarke almost smiled as Bellamy helped her up. “I had it handled.”

“Sure you did.”

“I did!”

A burst of fiery demon breath lit up the night sky, and then Clarke was tackling Bellamy to the ground. Another stream flared over their head as Cage let his rage loose on the crowd. She nearly cursed from the intensity and proximity of the searing heat, but Bellamy’s hands tightening around her waist cut her off.

Nose to nose, she stared him straight in the eye, suppressing a shiver at the intense worry and determination she saw there, and offered, “How about we argue later?”

“Slaying now, argue later,” he agreed.

She launched herself up and headed for the stairs again. Clarke didn’t need to look back to know that Bellamy was right behind her. Octavia was across the stage, taking on three of Cage’s lackeys at the same time to come at him from the other side.

It didn’t take them too much longer to get to Cage; nevertheless Clarke was caked in blood and vampire dust by the time she and Octavia faced the enormous demon. Though they were both tired and aching to the bone, they slashed and stabbed in perfect rhythm, one moving in as soon as the other one ducked out. Even in that moment, as they were fighting for their lives and their town, Clarke felt a rush of power–the Slayer’s power–course through her, fueled by her own rage and her partner’s ferocity. It was heady, addictive and so dangerous, but she let it seize her anyways. She let it mold her into a weapon that was stronger than steel, sharper than stone, and faster than an arrow. And with a raw cry, she shoved her sword into Cage’s scaly chest, burying it up to the hilt. Clarke held it there, then twisted; she grunted as the demon writhed away, but then Octavia hollered and suddenly Cage’s snake-like neck was without a head.

Tears of exhaustion and relief welled in Clarke’s eyes as she turned to her fellow Slayer. With a grin, Octavia launched herself at her and enveloped her in a fierce hug.

“We did it,” Clarke whispered, letting giddiness at their victory flood her for a brief moment.

Octavia hummed in excited agreement, but soon sounds of the waning battle still going on below them pulled them apart. Exchanging determined glances, they vaulted off the stage to take care of the last of Cage’s warriors. Soon the remaining enemy was fleeing into the night, as Monty had let the barrier down upon the demon’s demise to allow the wounded access to medical care. Clarke helped where she could, tieing off wounds and bandaging burns. They would take care of the dead later, but even now it was all she could do to keep her stomach from turning inside out as she passed too many bodies.

“It would’ve been more, you know,” Bellamy said to her later that night when it was just the two of them in the library passing a flask of something potent and searing between them. “If Emerson and Tsing and the rest had been there. Not nearly as many survivors would have been left.”

Clarke forced herself to look at him, bruised and bandaged and looking halfway dead, as they all did. “We don’t know that.”

“Clarke.” When she didn’t respond, he sighed, leaning forward to brace his forearms on his knees. “Listen to me.”

She shook her head, resenting the guilty tears welling up in her eyes. “Don’t. Don’t try to make me feel better.”

“What you did saved lives.”

“I didn’t do it to save lives!” She exploded, lingering anger and regret lit into rage by the residual adrenaline from the battle and the liquor sitting heavy in her gut. “I did it to save you.”

Clarke swallowed tightly, refusing to chance another look at him. She didn’t want to see the shock or resentment in Bellamy’s eyes, not tonight, not when everything else had seemed like a win.

“I would have done the same for you.”

The words startled her, and she jerked her head over towards him. The fierce expression on his face took her aback, but it eased immediately when their gazes locked.

“I would have done the same for you,” he repeated, but softer this time. Then he reached out, so hesitantly, brushing a stray tangle of hair away from her cheek. Her lips parted, and she let out a shaky breath.

“I thought we were going to argue later, not agree,” she offered weakly after a beat of staring at one another.

Bellamy chuckled, ducking his head. After a quick shake, he humored her. “Your sword work was a bit stiff. You have to loosen your grip when you swing.”

“Shut up. My sword-wielding abilities are fine.”

“You need a wider stance too.”

“Like hell I do.”

Bellamy grinned up at her, and something lifted in her chest, easing the pressure of the last few weeks just a bit.

* * *

 

Two weeks later, Clarke was sitting on her porch trying to read a book–and failing, because a vampire had thrown her a little too hard into a gravestone last night and her back was throbbing–when an outdated SUV pulled up to the curb. As the engine cut off, she squinted to see who was driving. When Bellamy got out of the car, she shot out of her chair.

“What are you doing here?” She said, bounding down the steps. They hadn’t had a chance to see each other much. They all had needed sleep, days of it, after the battle, and then tracking down the remaining members of Cage’s army had spread them all thin.

“Catch,” he announced with a smile as he chuckled something at her.

She caught it easily, registering that it was the car keys. “Testing my reflexes?”

“Kane did say they could use some work.”

“I just saved the world. So what if I’m a little slow?”

“ _We_ saved the world.” Bellamy grinned wider. “We did it, not just you.”

She nearly chucked the keys back at his face, but he looked too happy for her to ruin it. Besides, she liked his face how it was–a lot.

“What are these for?” She asked.

“For you.”

“Me?”

“Well, us.”

Clarke froze, the keys no longer jingling in her hand. “What?”

Bellamy shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He scuffed his shoe against the walkway, then said, “The school can’t afford to employ both me and Kane during the summer for the library, so it appears I have some free time. And you’re not going off to college until August, and your mom mentioned you weren’t too happy to be stuck in the house all summer, and Octavia needs to get used to patrolling on her on–”

“Bellamy.”

“How do you feel about a cross-country road trip?”

“Are you serious?”

“Do you not want to?”

“I want to!” Then she let out a little laugh, because he had sounded so uncertain and she had answered so quickly. “What about money?”

“I have savings. And your mom agreed to chip in for you.”

She couldn’t stop gaping at him. “Bellamy.”

“Clarke.”

“Where’d the car come from?”

“I bought it.” He held up a hand to cut off her protest. “I needed a new one. I would’ve done it anyways.”

Clarke stared at him for another second, then screamed happily and launched herself at him. It took a second after she locked her arms around his neck for him to embrace her back. Once he did, though, it felt like he was never going to let go. Her heart swelled when she realized she didn’t quite want him to.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

It had been her decision to attend college at the local university just a few towns over. Octavia swore she could handle the Hellmouth on her own–well, with her brother and Monty and Jasper and Kane too. Everyone told her this was her chance to get out, to go somewhere else and do something other than be a Slayer. As tempting as it was, she remembered the thrum of power, and responsibility, too well. There might be a time when she grew bitter about it, but for now, this was her choice, and she was choosing to stay.

Even still, the thought of spreading her wings and horizons for a few weeks made her feel as if she was walking on air. And the fluttering in her stomach at the way Bellamy was so warm and solid around her?

That felt pretty good too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy get stuck in a haunted frat house and things get--a little steamy.

“That was quick.”

Bellamy paused in the door of the frat house as she pushed off the banister she had been leaning against. Clarke cocked a quizzical look at him because he just continued to stare at her. His hand tightened on the doorknob as his eyes flicked up and down her, a little slower and heavier than if he was just checking for injuries.

“Bellamy?”

“Uh, yeah. What’s up? You said somebody was locked in a closet against their will? It’s probably a ghost–too mellow to be a poltergeist.”

She nodded, biting her lip to suppresses a smile. Suddenly she was very glad that Raven had talked her into wearing this dress tonight. Midnight blue, it did wonderful things for her boobs.

And her ass too, she thought with satisfaction as she turned to lead him into the party. It was the typical frat crowd: raucous, drunken, sweaty, horny. More than a few couples were making out in plain view, others grinding on each other to the bass beat pounding out the speaker system. Clarke had to dodge a few greedy hands herself, but soon they stopped trying because Bellamy suddenly was right at her back. The further they moved into the throng, the closer he kept, until she could practically feel his heat pressing into her spine. She nearly jumped when his fingertips brushed her side; he was just making sure he didn’t lose her, that was all. Even so, goosebumps rose on her skin and anticipation curled low in her gut.

“Where exactly is this closet?”

She shivered, because his mouth was only a breath away from her ear, his gravelly words dancing down the side of her neck. Clarke barely managed to gesture to her right before Bellamy gripped her hips tightly and steered her in that direction.

There was still a crowd gathered outside the locked door, but now they were giggling and snorting instead of trying to get their friends out.

“Guys?” Clarke prompted, trying to ignore the heavy heat of Bellamy’s large hands still on her hips.

The group glanced at her, then each other, then burst out laughing. A moan of pleasure, followed by a grunt, sounded from instead the closet, and they laughed harder.

“They may not mind being locked in there so much anymore,” one of the listeners snickered.

Bellamy sighed behind her, though he didn’t step back. Craning her head around, she caught his amused gaze.

“You sure they didn’t lock the door themselves?” He questioned her, laughter in his tone.

She scowled up at him. “That door wouldn’t budge, Bellamy. And they wanted out. Trust me. They’re both in my intro bio class and they fight all the time. They hate each other.”

Another cry from the closet cut her off, and she blushed as Bellamy broke into a wide grin. Then his smile slipped from entertained to enticing, and Clarke’s pulse jumped from the way heat flared in his eyes.

“We used to hate each other, you know,” he murmured.

She started to turn her head down, thoughts racing at his words, but his fingers caught her chin, holding it in place, keeping her looking straight at him.

He glowed tonight, like bronze illuminated, warmth radiating from every freckled inch of him. She gently wrapped her hand around his wrist. Bellamy leaned down, slowly, and her lips parted, breath hitching with excitement because _was this really happening_ –

A scream sounded from upstairs.

“Shit,” they both said at the same time before taking off for the stairs. As they reached the top, they saw a girl stumble out of a room, horror etched into her face.

Clarke tried to grab her as she raced past, but the panicked girl flailed her arms in protest and slipped from her grasp. By the time she turned around, Bellamy was always racing into the room. Huffing in frustration at his rashness, she dashed after him. She nearly knocked into him, because he had stopped dead. Then she saw the vines slithering across the window outside, quickly blocking out the little moonlight that was illuminating the room. The door slamming shut startled them both, but it was only Bellamy who whipped around to see it.

She sucked in a breath at how close he was. His heat washed over her again, more potent this time that she could feel it against her front. Clarke looked up at him, but his eyes were scanning downwards, and she watched his tongue flick out to lick his lips as he stared at her cleavage. When he finally glanced up again, she stopped breathing because the fire in his eyes burned all the oxygen from her lungs.

Hands to her hips, he suddenly walked her backwards, until she bumped into the door.

“We should try the door,” she whispered as his nose brushed against hers.

He never broke eye contact with her as he slowly reached for the knob. It didn’t budge, just jiggled in place as he tried to turn it.

“It’s locked,” she breathed.

“It’s locked.”

Clarke waited another beat before she surged up, crushing her mouth to his. Bellamy groaned as his large hands bracketed her back. His solid chest pressed hotly into her breasts as he crushed her too him, arching her against him in at the right ways. Eagerly she slid her hands into his hair and relished the feel of his curls twisting around her fingers. They felt just like she had imagined during the dozens of daydreams she had had about doing exactly this. Kissing Bellamy like she’d never get another chance, his mouth hot and wet and open, _wanting_ her. When she bit his lip–she had imagined that too–he groaned. Her pulse stuttered at the way that noise flooded through her, making her cheeks flush and her spine tingle. Then his fingers, his deft fingers, were running down and over her ass, teasing the hem of her dress. As he traced them over the back of her thighs, Clarke knocked her head back against the door, breathing heavily.

“Holy shit,” she groaned, and he chuckled before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

Bellamy never stopped kissing her, just moving to her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. She ran her hands over his shoulders, loving the way the muscles bunched and tensed underneath her touch. As he nudged the straps of her dress off her shoulder, Clarke ran her hands down his front, scrambling for the hem of his shirt. When he pulled away to take it off, she reached around for her zipper, letting her dress fall to the ground. Bellamy stripped the shirt off, and his tousled hair making her crazy. They reached for each other at the same time, his hands bracketing her face and hers reaching for his pants. The way his tongue ran against the seam of her lips, then licked into her mouth, made her light up. She was ablaze, fueled by his own flame.

She gasped when he hitched her up after kicking off his pants. Spinning around, he walked her to the bed, his heavy weight pressing her into the mattress as soon as she landed on it. They shifted up the bed in a tangle of limbs and greedy hands, and her skin sang with heat and desire.

“God, Clarke,” Bellamy rasped as he rolled her hips into hers. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

“Back at you.” Then she bit his lip, pulling on it with her teeth so that he groaned.

When she released it, he kissed her with equal ferocity, relentless and hungry. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, turning white with how hard she gripped them. His own fingers were moving much lower, slipping over her hips and thighs and then–

The door busted open with a deafening crack, sending blinding light and bits of wood towards them. Bellamy shielded her as they both squinted towards the intruder.

“Oh, damn it!” Octavia cried out, hand flying to her eyes as she spun around. “Things I never, _ever_ wanted to see.”

“What the hell, O!” Bellamy shouted back, scrambling up and throwing clothes at Clarke.

She sucked in air as she pulled them on, suddenly realizing how stuffy and humid the room had grown. Her skin prickled as a draft blew in, and then it felt as if cold water had been poured down her spine.

_She had almost had sex. With Bellamy._

As the rest of her grew cold, her cheeks heated up, blooming with a no doubt very noticeable blush. She resolutely avoided looking at Bellamy, who was dressing as hurriedly as she was. It wasn’t long until Octavia started babbling about how she had to hack through feet of nasty, thorny vines around the house and the next time he called her for backup to not do something that would scar her for life upon her arrival.

“How was I supposed to know the ghost had a voyeurism kink!” Bellamy cracked back. “I didn’t exactly plan on walking into a situation where a spirit took over my hormones.”

Now Clarke was feeling extra chilled, because _of course._ Of course what they had done hadn’t been real. Well, it had been real on her end. As for Bellamy–she supposed she’d have to chalk it up to the spirit’s influence. Distracted by that revelation, she started walking forward, but then her shoulder clipped Bellamy’s arm. Before she knew it, his hands clamped down on her arm and whipped her around. Like earlier, he walked her backwards toward the door. In the process, he managed to smoothly push his sister out into the hall while closing them inside once again. Clarke nearly pushed him away, but then his mouth landed on her neck, sucking and hot, and she melted underneath his sensual touch.

“Are you serious?” Octavia screamed from the hallway. She said more, but Clarke couldn’t hear her as well anymore, focused instead on her racing pulse and the soft groans Bellamy was making in the back of his throat as she ran her fingers wildly through his hair.

“Guys, c’mon! I hauled my ass all the way here to save you. So let me save you!”

Bellamy banged in protest on the door to silence her, and Clarke nearly did the same. She didn’t want to think of anything other than his strong lines and sharp angles, pressing her in all the right places.

“You have to stop, both of you! Bell, _please_!”

Finally he hesitated, and Clarke loathed the few inches now between them.

“Don’t stop,” she protested, cupping his neck from behind to bring their lips together again. “Please don’t stop.”

“Clarke,” he murmured, shuddering when she ran her tongue along the seam of his mouth.

“Stop! That’s the cure!” Octavia emphasized her words with a few slams and kicks to the door. “That’s how we get rid of the ghost and the rest of this shit. You just have to kiss, and then _stop._ Don’t take it any farther. Just one kiss–one, _true_ kiss.”

One last slap to the door from Octavia finally startled them both out of their heated daze. Bellamy suddenly released her, then backed away as if he had been scalded. Clarke lasted for a moment before jerking forward and reaching for him. His hand automatically went to hers, but he only pulled her part of the way into his front before groaning and jerking away again.

“Damn it,” Clarke muttered, thrusting her hands behind her back and inching away. Her muscles screamed in protest, wanting to launch her at Bellamy’s solid frame instead. “How are we going to do this?”

He didn’t answer, just let out a choked laugh as he stared at her longingly.

“We can do this,” she reassured him, even though she was anything but certain of that. Slowly, she took a step forward. Keeping her gaze locked on his, she repeated the motion. He started to do the same, just as cautious.

“You guys do it yet?”

Octavia’s voice nearly broke their concentration, and they both groaned in frustration.

Bellamy panted as he quirked a smile at her. “Keep going, yeah?”

Clarke just nodded, unable to speak because she could feel the heat rolling off of him by now. It made it hard to concentrate. She began to focus on his freckles, counting each one from the forehead down. If she thought of him that way, in pieces, it made the uncontrollable attraction easier to manage.

Concentrated as she was, Clarke startled when his fingers brushed against her cheekbone.

“Hey,” he said soothingly. “It’s just me.”

His brown eyes were shy, sheepish, understanding as he leaned in. Soft and cautious, Bellamy’s lips touched down on hers so gently that she had to wonder if she was imagining it. Then his hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing over her cheek. Warmth bloomed in the wake of his touch, and Clarke arched into him givingly. Tilting her head, she tasted just the slightest bit more of him, relishing the control of this embrace compared to their others tonight.

He breathed her name as they pulled apart, _finally_ pulled apart. She kept her eyes closed, feeling his exhales against her face, and listened to the thud of her own fluttering pulse. Then she heard slithering and crackling, followed by Octavia’s victorious cheer muffled from behind the door.

“We did it,” Clarke exclaimed, eyes flying open. She barely saw Bellamy before he swept her up into a hug, quick but affectionate.

To her delight, he affirmed her announcement with a kiss, this one a little more greedy than the last but not as desperate as their others. Clarke sighed as he wrapped her up in his solid arms, bending her back so she could feel every inch of him against her.

“ _Seriously_?”

They broke apart laughing to face Octavia, who was looking slightly disgusted. Then she started to smirk. “So I guess it wasn’t just the ghost when it came to you guys, was it?”

“Nope,” Bellamy said happily, sliding his hand down to clasp hers.

Clarke had to look at him to really believe that pronouncement, but as soon as she saw his pleased grin, she couldn’t help but smile too. Octavia sighed dramatically and then bounced out into the hall, calling for them to follow her and _hook up someplace normal, god!_

“My dorm is a ten minute walk from here,” Clarke offered slyly.

“I know.” Then he planted a hot kiss on her mouth before tugging her out the door. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now folks! I'd love to add more to this 'verse but have no ideas so if you do have scenes you'd like to see, send 'em to me @ kay-emm-gee.tumblr.com!

**Author's Note:**

> From one prompt (thank you historicbellamyblake :) ), I'm delving into a universe I've been wanting to explore for a very long time. This isn't a true multichapter, more just a collection of one-shots within the same 'verse, so they may not always progress in order or be updated regularly, just added as I fill relevant prompts. Hopefully it will make sense in the end!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr (kay-emm-gee)!


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